A Layer of Dust
by SerenLyall
Summary: Two years after the Battle of Endor, Leia finds herself standing in a darkened room that she once knew well. But where once there had been joy and laughter and the bright memory of her father and her world, now there are only ghosts amid the shadows. And yet even so she is not alone, for though she has lost much, she has also found.


**Disclaimer:** Star Wars, and all character, places, and events there-related-to do not belong to me, but rather to their respective parties. No profit was made from the writing of this - save my break in writer's block.

**Rating/Warnings:** K+; a few mild themes and references to violence and injury, though nothing worse than is shown in the Original Trilogy.

**Notes:** Please note that this is _not_ compliant with the EU. It was originally meant to fit in with another, longer series of vignettes and oneshots that I have been working on, focusing on Leia...but then it grew beyond that series, and the themes and points that I wanted to discuss and make far outstripped the narrow-minded focus of the oneshot series. Thus this grew and became its own entity. Just what are those themes and points, however? Well, I suppose you will simply have to read on to find out.

I hope you enjoy!

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><p><strong><em>~A Layer of Dust~<em>**

They take Coruscant two years after Endor, on a cold spring day of cloud and wind and intermittent, fitful rain. Nonetheless, as Leia leans against the window in her old Senate office, she watches as revelers dance in the streets, waving burning flags and chanting a thousand prayers in a thousand different tongues. There is an air of wild celebration hung across the city—across the planet, perhaps across the entire galaxy—a sense of finality, of triumph, of joy despite the blood that the rain washes from the streets and gutters.

_"It's over, Papá,"_ Leia whispers silently to the hollow shadows pressing in around her, and for an instant she wonders—like a lonely little child yearning for her parents—if the ghost of her father can hear her. _"We've won."_

_It's over_. _This war—it's finally over._ But the words seem meaningless, hollow, though they tumble through her mind with soft, soft whispers of hope and joy. She feels empty—despite the pain thrumming through her right leg, despite the final, fading traces of adrenaline, despite the echo of memory stinging at her eyes—as if something has been stolen from her heart, from her gut, from her tongue or her hands or her head—like something is lost.

The door slides open, silent but for the snaking hissof decompressed air, shaking Leia from her musings. She turns away from the window to see Luke crossing the threshold, his flightsuit crumpled and singed in more than one place, his face streaked with dried sweat, and a trailing trace of blood creeping from one temple.

"Hey," he says softly, coming to a halt just inside the door. It slides shut behind him, creating a white-grey backdrop that, in the gloom of the dusty office, makes him look like a blazing flame amid the darkness. Like a finger of light amid the shadows.

"Hey," Leia echoes, and though she smiles softly, Luke cannot help but frown slightly at her tone. Her voice is low and quiet and even, but it is burdened with something bitter even as it is sweet, and there is a rippling undercurrent beneath her words that sets Luke's heart to aching. He reaches out carefully, brushing her thoughts with his own in the way only he can—only to withdraw an instant later as the twisting cacophony of pain and nebulous, aching confusion dizzies him.

Now truly concerned, Luke takes a hesitant step farther into the office—and pauses an instant later, realizing just where he is as the gloomy shaft of light filtering in through the window falls across the sweeping desk at the head of the room. Realizing whose old office he stands in. He freezes, takes half a step back, feeling as if he is somehow treading upon sacred ground. As if he is stepping over an invisible line that marks the boundary of a part of Leia's life in which he does not—has not, and never will—belong.

"You left the celebration pretty abruptly," Luke says at last, fighting down a small shudder after a moment of bated silence, not knowing what else to say to the dusty, cloying air.

Leia's eyes remain fixed upon him, silent and invisible pools of shadow, watching and waiting and listening, emotionless and still. Then abruptly Leia shrugs, and limps heavily over to the chair behind the desk. Luke can feel the thrill of pain traveling up and down her leg as she moves, but for the moment he makes no comment.

She sits with a pained sigh, then looks up at Luke over the desk, their eyes meeting once more. She opens her mouth, tries to begin, "I just…" She grimaces as her words trip and fail her, and though he is not reaching out for her now, Luke can still feel the conflict of choking emotion rising in her. "It feels strange here, now," she admits slowly, heavily, as if she is weighing each word as it leaves her tongue. "It's like I'm a ghost haunting my own memories."

For an instant, Luke imagines that this is what Leia looked like when she was Senator—but then he banishes the thought from his mind, for he knows that it is not. Leia looks far too old, far too aged to be the brilliant young Senator from Alderaan that Luke can vaguely recall seeing in the dated reports that sometimes filtered into Tosche's Station. Her face is pinched with pain and exhaustion, and her eyes, though far from dead or broken, carry death within them. No eighteen-year-old, despite her rank and her experience, could look as Leia does now—as if she has shouldered the weight of the galaxy through a thousand sleepless nights.

_Besides_, Luke adds, _I doubt she ever wore a burned and bloodied combat suit when she was a Senator._

Luke takes a step into the office, dust leaping into the air beneath his boots as he dares to cross the invisible, sacred line for a second time. She needs him—he can feel that. He _knows _that. While today means much for him—for him and for every other pilot and soldier and technician and officer and secretary in the Alliance—it means something much, _much_ more to her.

"Has it changed at all?" he asks quietly. "The office, I mean." He casts a quick glance around the room the as he asks, taking in the shadowed paintings hanging on the wall through the gloom, the ornately wrought tables in the corners, the cabinets and cut glass wine decanter and the vase of dead flowers sitting on the corner of her desk.

"No. It hasn't," Leia answers heavily, bitterly, an unidentifiable undercurrent of emotion rippling through and amid her words. "I thought…" She hesitates. Drops her gaze to the desktop. "The Emperor disbanded the Senate very shortly after my capture—after my supposed death. There wasn't time to change anything, I suppose. And you know how the Emperor was," she adds sourly, with a dark twist of her lips. "He enjoyed leaving reminders of his power; he wouldn't have touched the Senate building so long as it served as a reminder to the people that he could take away their autonomy and their protection with a mere flick of his fingers."

Coruscant's weather pattern regulators begin a new cycle of rain, releasing a sudden, driving torrent that batters against the window. The light darkens further, plunging the already-shadowed office into a preternatural twilight. In the gloom, Leia looks like a ghost, sitting behind the desk with her hands folded and her head bowed.

Leia sighs. "I'm sorry, Luke," she apologizes softly. "Being here—it just reminds me of…a lot."

"There's nothing to apologize for," Luke assures his sister softly. "The last time you were in here, you were a different person."

Leia laughs. "Trust me Luke, I haven't forgotten. Last time I was in here, I had a father and a planet. Last time I was here, the worst nightmares I had were of being discovered as a Rebel spy. It's ironic, really," she adds darkly.

Luke bites his tongue, and swallows his words—Anakin is still a sore subject between them, and it would be cruel to bring the topic to bear again now. "Leia…" He trails off, not knowing what to say—what he _can _say that won't reopen old wounds.

"It's fine, Luke," Leia smiles, and looks up at him once more. "I may have lost my father, but I've gained a brother. And found Han—whatever he is. Whatever he will be. It's just…strange to be back here," she sighs once more. "To be surrounded by the memories of my old life." Her lips twist into a dry smile. "I'll be fine," she adds, quieter—and it sounds to Luke as if she is trying to convince herself of that just as much as him.

Then she stands abruptly, as if to shake off her thoughts. Through their twin bond, Luke can feel the arrow of agony that flashes through her right side with fiery alacrity, and he cannot help but wince. She stumbles, but catches herself on her desk, and pushes herself straight once more.

"You should get that leg looked at," Luke says, frowning at his sister. He hopes that a change in topic—and raising her stubborn streak—may help to shake the dark thorns from her heart.

"It'll be fine," Leia retorts, as he knows she will. "There are others in more dire need than I—and I had it looked at already."

"By a field medic," Luke rejoins, crossing his arms. "Leia, if it's hurting you _this _much…"

Leia grimaces. "Sometimes I resent our bond," she mutters. "Luke, I'll be _fine_," she promises. "I'll get it looked at later."

Luke sighs and runs a hand through his tangled hair. "You're lying," he tells her bluntly. "Bond, remember?" Leia glares. "Come on," Luke says, taking one final step forward, and offering her his hand. "I'll go with you."

"You aren't going to let this go, are you?" Leia asks him.

"Nope," Luke grins. "Come on, little sister," he teases roguishly. Then, softly, "I think it's time you leave the shadows behind."

Limping over to him, Leia at last takes his hand. "Let's go then," she mutters. "Better to get this over with, I suppose."

Grinning, Luke turns with her, and squeezes her fingers gently. "I love you," he says, on impulse, as they reach the door, his hand tightening around hers.

Startled, Leia looks up at him. It is not the first time he has said it to her—she has long since lost count of the number of times her brother has told her he loves her. And yet…and yet somehow, this time it feels different. As if the words are deeper. More real.

As if he understands her a little better, and so now understands a little fuller what those words mean between them.

"I love you too," Leia says with a small, quiet smile.

And then she leans into her brother's side, allowing him to help her out into the brightly lit corridor, and she leaves the old, abandoned office of the Senator of Alderaan to the rain-swept shadows.

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><p><strong>End notes:<strong> Again, I truly hope that you enjoyed! I would love feedback, be it a simple "I liked it," or lengthy constructive criticism - one can only improve if they know what to improve on. Thank you for reading!


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